


In Touch

by Anonymous



Category: Vienna Blood (TV)
Genre: :), Hand Jobs, M/M, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-20
Updated: 2020-01-20
Packaged: 2021-02-27 10:48:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22325854
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Set after episode 1. :)
Relationships: Oskar Rheinhardt/Max Liebermann
Comments: 15
Kudos: 41
Collections: Anonymous





	In Touch

**Author's Note:**

> Set after episode 1. :)

Oskar was making coffee when he heard a knock on the door, one with a peculiar, jaunty rhythm. _Tap tap-tap tap-tap… …tap_. The delay of that last one was obviously just to frustrate him, and he could think of only one person puerile enough to gain satisfaction from it. This was what he got for allowing Max to walk him back to his house one night last week.

He stalked over to the door, opening it a mere few inches and narrowing his eyes at Max who offered him a small wave. _What an idiot._ “Strange. I don’t remember inviting you to my house."

Max smiled; he had begun to find comfort in that rough, heavy accent of late. “Actually, you didn’t,” he said, deliberately suggesting ambiguity on the matter where there was none, just because he knew it would ruffle his feathers. “I thought I would…surprise you.”

“Consider me surprised,” Oskar remarked flatly.

Max tried to peek around the corner of the door. “May I come in?”

“Please do.” Oskar opened it and ushered him in with a brief open-palmed gesture, “It has been a whole day since I last saw you. I was starting to forget what you looked like,” he said with a raised eyebrow.

“Just as well I’m here to remind you then.”

“I cannot thank you enough," he sighed, but in honesty, he was pleased to see him again since their success, he just didn't want to appear too obvious about it.

Max was growing used to Oskar’s sarcasm, as an Englishman it was a language he was fluent in. He had also discovered that it was indicative of a good mood (comparatively speaking), so he cheerfully entered the house and hung his coat and hat on the stand. “Do we have a new case yet?” he asked, inhaling the rich scent of coffee.

“You mean has anyone been horrifically murdered since yesterday?” 

“That would do, yes.”

“If they have, then I'm afraid their case has not been assigned to me,” Oskar replied, checking the pot on the stove and setting a second cup on the table.

Max took the opportunity of Oskar’s diverted attention to observe the rustic little cottage, it was the first time he had been inside his home and he was curious to see what lay within its walls. He began wandering around the kitchen with his hands neatly clasped behind his back, bending down every so often to peer at something, a trinket that might provide a deeper insight into his new partner. There was a pile of books on a rickety shelf that caught his eye and he picked one from the middle to flick through as he waited.

“A book on… wild berries? You don’t strike me as a gardener or forager, and I can’t imagine that you bought it for a case - though that would have certainly been an interesting one,” Max added, intrigued by the possibility. “Someone else’s perhaps?” he offered before realising that it no doubt belonged to his estranged wife and Oskar probably didn’t need to be reminded.

“This isn’t a crime scene. Stop looking at my things,” he groused.

“It’s difficult when I’m surrounded by them.”

“Stop speaking then, or you can drink your coffee outside with the local chickens. They might appreciate your company more than me.”

“Friendly are they?”

“No. They won’t like you much either, but the standard is low.”

Max chuckled, but continued to scour the room, albeit silently.

Oskar knew his possessions were being analysed and judged, and even though Max said nothing, he glanced up to find him scrutinising particular items, items that he thought gave away no secrets, yet the curiosity shown in them caused doubt to form in his mind. He didn’t like being unable to see what Max saw, unable to know what went on in that complicated brain of his.“I can still hear you thinking, you know.”

“Sorry,” Max apologised distractedly as he lifted the lid of a small decorative dust-covered teapot, “I think rather loudly.” He looked inside it, nothing of interest but it was a quaint little thing all the same, and satisfied, he replaced it delicately and scanned the furniture. “No pets then?”

“I don’t need something that follows me around and annoys me,” Oskar replied, turning to him and proffering a cup, “I already have you,” he finished, but just as he did, Max noticed the tiniest upward curl at the older man’s lips. _He was enjoying himself._

It was at moments like this that he was reminded why he had been so drawn to Oskar. He knew that there was more beneath the rough, aloof, and short-tempered exterior demonstrated on that first day, there was playfulness, humour - and though Oskar’s remark hardly exemplified it - there was kindness too.

Max took the cup with a smile and pulled out a chair from beneath the table, but Oskar strode through the door and into the living room, leaving him standing there stupidly. “Well, all right then,” he whispered under his breath, tucking the chair back in and following him.

Oskar watched from the settee with satisfaction as Max entered the room somewhat awkwardly. If Max could break the rules of etiquette by noseying around his house, he could as well, by abandoning him in the kitchen. It was petty and juvenile for a man of his age, but he took no less pleasure in it for that knowledge.

The smugness quickly dissipated however, when instead of sitting in the single seat traditionally taken by guests, Max plonked himself down beside him on the settee, thigh to thigh, blew with unnecessary exaggeration on the coffee, and took a long, loud sip. He was continuing their childish game of subverting expectations. _Ridiculous_. But as much as Oskar hated to admit it, there was joy to be found in Max’s eccentricities, it brought out a mischief in him that had lain dormant for so long now that he had forgotten he even possessed it: this callow and odd, but intelligent and inspired young man that in a mere few weeks had already begun to chip away at his armour with gentle charm and keen wit.

He was attractive too… he noticed it, how could he not? But his initial impression of him was that of a pretty little richling and nothing more, now however, he could appreciate the way his pale, bowed lips quirked into an endearing smile at his quips, the way his large blue eyes sparkled whenever he had an epiphany, and the way his tall frame when poised was graceful, and when hunched was clumsy and sweet. He had never looked at a boy that way before.

Max felt himself being watched and turned his head to find Oskar gazing at him with soft, fond eyes. Clearly realising he had been caught, Oskar quickly lowered his eyebrows into a humorous semi-scowl, looking him up and down as if offended then directing his gaze towards the bookcase and taking a quiet sip from his cup. It was always funny when Oskar pretended not to like him.

Max used his companion's little huff to let his eyes linger on him instead. It had not escaped his attention how appealing he found him. ‘Pretty’ he was not, but he possessed a handsomeness that only men of a particular age could: a rugged, worldly sort. His stocky build was imposing, despite being shorter in stature than himself, and his sturdiness made him seem like a reassuringly immovable force. He had deep brown eyes that when determined were fierce and fiery, but when amused were gentle and warm; and his smile…on the rare occasions of display, seemed to light up his entire face, causing crinkles around his eyes and creases around his mouth, his neat beard stretching to accommodate them.

“What are you looking at?” Oskar asked somewhat hypocritically, his low voice rumbling in Max’s gut.

“Nothing,” he replied, but as he continued to appraise Oskar who currently sat in his brown tweed trousers and waistcoat, the material stretched tight around the bulk of his belly and thighs, he found himself wanting to touch him for at least the third time this week, and it reminded him that whenever he had - accidentally of course - Oskar had not given the knee-jerk response that he had expected.

He placed his cup on the coffee table in front and leaned back with his hands on his knees, feeling the warmth of Oskar’s thick thigh radiating through the fabrics clothing each of them. Slowly, he slid his hand from his own leg onto Oskar’s and lay his palm just above the point where their bodies were most closely connected.

Oskar took silent, deep breaths as he eyed him carefully for several long moments before gulping and looking away, then waited several more before finally speaking.

“What are you doing?” he asked, but Max noted that his tone was curious as it was curt.

“Testing a theory.”

“By touching my leg.”

“Yes.”

“I see,” Oskar nodded, depositing his cup on the floor beside him. “And what is your conclusion, Doctor? That I had a difficult relationship with my mother?”

“Not quite,” Max smirked, surprised that Oskar had actually been listening to the extensive theoretical disquisitions in which he had seemed so disinterested at the time.

“Oh? Explain myself to me then,” Oskar suggested. He normally wouldn’t ask for such a thing, but he wondered what Max imagined his touch meant to him.

“All right,” Max started, adopting a thoughtful but self-assured tone.“You don’t flinch reflexively at the contact. Somewhat surprisingly, you’re neither shocked nor perturbed by it,” he stated, curling his finger lightly against the taut wool. “However, you do react. You purposefully level your breathing, quieten it, and become still. You’re…” he pondered, “…focusing on the feeling, trying to commit it to memory. Perhaps it is comforting to you in some respect, a familiar sensation, though not from me, and not recently.”

Oskar looked down a little uncomfortably.

“After prolonged contact however, you swallow hard and turn away…” Max continued matter-of-factly, “…because you become acutely aware of the intimacy of it.”

Oskar shifted in his seat, the word alone spiking his pulse and making his cheeks hot. He wasn’t sure he liked how personal this was getting and was starting to regret asking.

“But even so, you don’t move away from the touch, because you crave that intimacy, but you don’t move into it either, and not so much because you fear I won’t reciprocate - though that certainly plays a part - but rather because…” he frowned, “…because for some reason, you feel you don’t deserve it.”

Oskar watched him, eyes flitting over his features, trying to work out where he was getting his information from, how he understood his guilt, but also trying to work out if there was intent behind this exposure or if he was simply saying it because he could.

“What I… _don’t_ know…” Max resumed a little more cautiously, and slowly began to trail his fingertips up the length of Oskar’s clothed thigh, “…is how much intimacy…you would like.”

Oskar started to sweat and he could feel himself growing hard. The words were no longer a professional deconstruction of his character but ones of overt personal interest, of…sexual interest. “…What I don’t know is…” Max repeated more quietly, “…when you would tell me to stop,” and gently ran his palm over the growing bulge between Oskar’s legs.

Oskar shot his hand out and grabbed Max by the wrist, halting his movements, but his eyes remained steadily on his, and for several moments, they just stared at each other silently, completely still except for the now heavy rise and fall of his chest.

Max awaited the inevitable scolding, but after a few seconds, the air thick with tension, Oskar began to pull lightly on his wrist, and without breaking eye-contact, slowly guided his hand back to the jut of his erection, letting his fingers graze it lightly. Max stroked the tips over the curve of his fly, and when Oskar finally released him, tentatively cupped him through the fabric.

A firm squeeze was all it took for a shuddering breath to escape the thin gap between Oskar’s lips - arousal, alarm, and relief overwhelming him all at once. It had been so long since anyone had touched him. Hesitantly, he parted his thighs to better feel his caress, and let his eyes rove over Max’s face in an attempt to decipher his expression, understand what he was thinking. As hard as he tried though, he couldn’t read him, and when after only a few scarce but stimulating moments of petting Max broke their gaze and abruptly rose to his feet, he began to panic. _Was he wrong? Had he misinterpreted the meaning of this?_

But Max then stood in front of him, lowered himself on his knees, and crawled between the wide spread of his legs, smoothing his hands up them until they converged at his groin before calmly reaching for the waistband of his trousers.

Max unbuttoned Oskar slowly, enjoying the gentle sounds of the brass fastenings being pushed through the buttonholes, the subtle noise amid the silence taking on a new meaning in this context. He glanced up from the floor to check on Oskar, only to find him staring, and not at his hands, but at his face, his dark, heavy eyebrows drawn into such a deep frown that it might have been mistaken for anger or displeasure had Max not recognised it as a combination of concentration and trepidation. He looked so gravely serious sometimes, and for some reason, Max found it rather adorable.

He met his eyes and gave him a reassuring smile, moving in closer and unclasping the braces under his waistcoat before reaching down and parting the flaps of his trousers to reveal his longjohns. The soft fabric still covered him, but was far slacker, and Oskar rose inside it with more freedom, a white cotton peak containing his rigid sex. The fly of it however, was less accommodating, and opened up ever so slightly to expose a sliver of dark pink.

Max suddenly felt a quiver of apprehension in his stomach for the first time this evening. Up to this point, it had been a tease of words, and touch, and possibility, but this - the flesh of a man’s hard cock - was indisputable, unapologetic. There was a thrill in that too though, and he had no intention of backing down, so he steeled himself and slipped his fingers into Oskar’s underwear, and with a gentle tug, took out his erection, hearing a sharp intake breath above him.

He ogled the meat in his hand. He had never seen another man in a state of arousal before, and while the parts were familiar, the details were quite different. It was longer than his own by a fair inch and a half, but it was the thickness that struck him most, its circumference not only impressive, but barely tapering from root to tip; it was deep crimson and aggressive looking, had gnarled veins that twisted up its length, and a chubby head that sat on top, sluggishly secreting clear fluid. It was…breathtaking, and he was quite lost for words.

Oskar watched Max stare at his cock, suddenly feeling a little self-conscious. It provided no insight and could be judged only aesthetically, and really, Oskar didn’t know how it appeared; he had no basis for comparison and wasn’t sure what Max’s expectations were. He wondered if Max was repelled by it, and began to shift nervously, not knowing what he would do with that kind of rejection at this stage. Desperate not to prolong the awkwardness, he opened his mouth to speak, but just as he did, Max suddenly leaned forward and took the entirety of the crown in his mouth, engulfing it with heat and giving him one firm suck. Oskar choked on a breath, his eyes flying open, and threw his hand out, flailing it around uselessly until he found a cushion to dig his fingers into. The warmth, the moisture, and the tight suction was so intense and unexpected that he had no idea what to do.

Max pulled off his cock and looked up to find Oskar with his back plastered to the settee like a cornered animal, his arm clinging desperately to a cushion, his eyes wide as they darted from side to side, and his eyebrows almost reaching his hairline. He looked utterly terrified.

“I’m sorry. Did I surprise you?” he asked with a smile.

Oskar rapidly nodded his head, his bearded chin tucking into his neck while the rest of his body remained frozen.

“Would you like me to do it again?”

Oskar gave one more quick nod.

“All right then,” Max said, trying not to appear too amused by his reaction, by his loss of composure, but was satisfied that this was definitely the way forward. So with a bit more confidence, he lowered his mouth and began licking the smooth, shining head of Oskar’s cock, starting with several long sweeps up the sides then flicking it lightly through the weeping slit.

Oskar took a deep breath through flared nostrils and let it out steadily through the purse of his lips without letting go of the cushion. He had never actually had a mouth on him before (his relations with his wife having been rather conservative and practical), so these were new sensations. It was of course clear from the experimental swipes of Max’s tongue that this was a novel experience for him too, but he did it with such eager curiosity that it scarcely mattered.

Satisfied with having mapped Oskar’s tip, Max drew the flat of his tongue from the hairy base of his cock up the underside of it, following the wide, tightly-pulled muscle that ran the length of the flesh. Oskar let out a deep but sweet little grunt, and it prompted him to do it again, and again, but on the third time, he added a quick peck of his lips to the head in a kiss, just to be cheeky, and glanced up to see the response, smiling when he saw Oskar’s chest jolt in his waistcoat as he gave a quiet, amused huff, his face delightfully flushed beneath his beard.

Having now built a little sexual rapport, he finally decided to continue what he had started. Resting his forearms on Oskar’s trouser legs, he took his cock in hand, loomed over it, then brought his mouth down, wrapping his lips around him and sucking him gently.

Oskar’s jaw dropped and he gave a loud groan, tipping his head back and closing his eyes to enjoy every tiny sensation of Max’s mouth. He was taken in slowly, the first two inches, no more, but they were the most sensitive two inches and he moaned with each wet dip.

After a few moments, he finally began to relax his shoulders… but tensed them again quickly when from out of nowhere, Max started rapidly slipping the head of his cock between his lips.

His eyes snapped open and he looked down. The sight of Max’s head bobbing feverishly between his legs, the sounds of wet sucks and slurps, and the unrelenting stimulation of his cock were all too much to bear for this unforeseen reintroduction to sex, and by the time he felt his balls rise up in his sac, he had lost the opportunity for warning.

Max heard a sharp grunt then felt warm liquid gush into his mouth in a succession of high pressure pulses. Not only was he unprepared for the abruptness of it, but for the sheer amount, this was _not_ a teaspoon standard. He pulled off quickly with a cough and it spilled over his chin.

“Sorry…” Oskar panted, his voice low and gravelly,“…that was…” and cleared his throat, “…quick…and alarming, I think, for both of us.”

“I’m more alarmed by your…reserves,” Max commented, wiping the semen from his chin with side of his hand.

“It has…been a while.”

“I see.”

Oskar turned away, perhaps from embarrassment, yet reached out and tugged on his trouser leg in a gesture for him to remove them. _How unexpected_. Max hadn’t imagined that there would be any reciprocation, and wondered if it was a mere courtesy or if Oskar possessed a desire to look upon him, touch him, and pleasure him. Optimistically, or perhaps with too bold an assumption of the latter, he decided not to simply take off his trousers but to fully undress; he would soon be able to tell if disapproval or indifference were present.

As he divested himself of his black waistcoat and loosened the scarlet tie from his neck, he found that instead of protest or detachment, Oskar’s eyes slowly rose to where his fingers worked the knot in the fabric, and settled there, watching him almost shyly, his cheeks steadily regaining colour.

Oskar had not anticipated nudity and wasn’t sure if he should be observing this private display or not. He attempted to avert his gaze, trying to find interest in the candle sticks, but he kept being drawn back, and with the slow shedding of each layer, found himself grow more and more curious to see the body that hid beneath all those fine silks and tailored cuts of Max’s prim attire. Why, he did not know, he had never looked at a clothed man and considered what lay under it, but now he could think of little else.

His eyes followed thin, nimble fingers with captivation wherever they went, but when Max eventually stood in nothing but his longjohns they fell to the tented cotton in the crotch of garment, the protrusion being the first visual evidence of Max’s own arousal. It seemed he wanted him too, and Oskar was surprised by how good that made him feel, not just to be desired, but to be desired by him. He watched Max: narrow shoulders hunched as he unbuttoned himself with a look of deep concentration, lips pinkened from taking his cock and coiffed brown hair mussed from the vigour of it, and found himself rather taken with him.

“Come here,” he said with a gentle smile, “I’ll help.”

Max paused briefly with surprise in the middle of undoing his last button, but was intrigued by this more kindly manner so moved closer and straddled Oskar’s thighs.

Oskar reached up to his neck with both hands, dragging them down his shoulders and arms, and as he did, peeled away the white fabric until it pooled around his waist, revealing smooth, creamy skin. It was as fair as any woman’s, though the edges that it clung to were unmistakably masculine despite how slender and delicate he appeared. He placed a flat palm in the middle of Max’s chest between his nipples and ran it over his ribcage, down his abdomen, then, flicking his eyes up so that they shared a gaze, delved his hand into his underclothes and pulled out his cock.

Max’s breath hitched at the warm calloused hand that gripped his sex. They both looked down and were equally pleased with sight, glancing at each other in acknowledgement of it.

Oskar slowly began to tug him, mesmerised by the way the dusky head of his pretty, curving cock slipped through his palm. The precome that gathered and was distributed with each pull made it wetter and easier, but Oskar added a bit more moisture by spitting in his palm, and was slightly amused by the way the loud, crude sound of it caused both Max and Max’s length to jump at the same time. Inspired, Oskar started to stroke him again, but let a steady rope of saliva fall from his lips and onto Max’s tip as well as his own fingers, causing a similar reaction. He glanced up and innocently asked: “What?” the string snapping and clinging to his beard. There was a blush high on Max’s sharp cheekbones and his eyes were large.

“Nothing,” he said a little breathlessly, “Your manners are just... surprising.”

Oskar grinned, gave Max a squeeze, then started to rapidly jerk his cock until the slick from his efforts began to make a vulgar slapping noise.

The filthy sound of it paired the fast pace made Max moan, and he reached out and braced his hands on Oskar’s broad shoulders, his eyebrows pulling together. “O-Oskar…I…” but couldn’t find an eloquent way to let him know how close he was.

Oskar used his free hand to wrap around Max’s back, pulling him near and dipping his head to take a pebbled nipple into his mouth. He sucked wetly on it, rasping his beard against smooth skin as he worked his jaw.

That was all it took. Max dug his fingers into the fabric of Oskar’s shirt, closed his eyes, and spilled with a strained ‘ah’, ejaculating on his tweed waistcoat in a few short squirts.

*

Oskar watched him as he recovered, happy with how flushed and exhausted he looked.

“Are you all right?” he smiled, and Max nodded wordlessly. “It wasn’t how I expected to spend my evening,” he added.

“Nor me, but I did enjoy it,” Max replied, regaining his composure and his cheer, and heard Oskar give a ‘mm’ in agreement. He sat for a few moments longer, uncertain of how to proceed, how long was acceptable to remain in Oskar's lap without making him feel uncomfortable. Reluctantly he crawled off Oskar’s thighs, picked up his clothes, and began to dress, his parents would no doubt be wondering where he was.

He wasn't sure if he should address what they had just done or not, but imagined that Oskar probably didn't want to discuss the implications of it, so attempted casual conversation instead.

“Are you coming to my engagement party?”

Oskar looked up, relieved that Max didn't want to dissect the event. “Will there be dancing?”

Max arched an eyebrow in surprise as he pulled on his trousers. “Would you _like_ there to be?”

“No.”

Max smiled. _Of course not._ “Then I’ll tell my family not to ply you with alcohol in an attempt to change your mind, but I should warn you, they’re very persuasive,” he said, buttoning up his waistcoat.

“I’ll keep my wits about me.” Oskar tapped his temple with his finger and sat up.

“No no, don’t get up. I’ll see myself out.”

“I wasn’t going to,” and reached down to pick up his coffee cup, raising it in demonstration, before taking a long sip.

“Very mature.”

“I learned it from you,” he smiled.

“You’ll let me know when we have a new case, won’t you?” Max asked, stuffing his tie in his pocket.

“You keep saying ‘we’. I haven’t agreed to your continued consult.”

“We made a good team though, didn’t we?”

 _There was little point in denying that_. “We did.”

“Then you’ll be in touch?”

“You’re determined aren’t you?” Oskar laughed, and Max was warmed to see those creases around his eyes.

“It’s one of my better qualities.”

Oskar nodded slowly and smiled, defeated but happy.

“I’ll be in touch.”

*

**Author's Note:**

> I loved this show! I watched it about two weeks ago, (even though the BBC aired it in Nov) and was eagerly awaiting the surge of fanfics that would surely follow...but there was no surge. XD So if you're here, then you'll end up being one of ten people. XD
> 
> Anyway, I decided to write something because I'm nothing if not niche ;)
> 
> I love Oskar. I also love Jürgen Maurer. If you ever get a chance to watch him in Vorstadtweiber, you should. He's hilarious (and gay, which is a nice bonus)
> 
> It would be fun to write a second chapter because I'm a fan of full intercourse XD and also because he's so much warmer to Max by the end of ep 3, and while I adore seeing him shut the door on Max's face, I really like it when they're a proper team and like each other. That would be nice to write.
> 
> Anyway. Thank you for reading!


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